


"That's Disgusting..."

by kam



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kam/pseuds/kam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short Johnlock written for the BBC Kink Meme Prompt:<br/>John and Sherlock are in a weird stage in their relationship where almost anything the other does turns them on. Cue making out at crime scenes over deductions, rutting against each other when John has insulted Mycroft, and having a good shag in the Bart's lab because John handed Sherlock his phone a certain way. I'd like to see how others react(i.e. Donovan and Lestrade watching them in disgust at the crime scene)</p>
            </blockquote>





	"That's Disgusting..."

“Donovan, I need the BLOODY HELL, SHERLOCK! JOHN!”

“They’ve been at it for nearly ten minutes, Sir. Can’t get them to stop."

“What… How… _Why_?”

“Near as I can figure, John was overcome by the freak’s latest string of deductions.”

John could not, if pressed, explain _why_ , exactly, it had happened. Perhaps there was something about the flourish with which Sherlock had delivered the final, damning piece. Perhaps it was the glint in his eyes when it had all started coming together. Perhaps it was the tiny, expectant smile he’d shot John when he’d finished. ‘Good?’ he seemed to ask. And _fuck_ , but _yes_ , it was good. It was _so_ good, and John simply couldn’t contain himself, and before he knew it, he had Sherlock pressed against the wall, the harsh concrete of the car park certainly digging into his back, but Sherlock was not protesting. He was, in fact, rather enthusiastically accepting. John was vaguely aware of a new noise in the background – sounded a bit like gagging, actually – but he couldn’t bring himself to care, because Sherlock’s lips were soft and hungry, and his tongue tasted like danger and his arm was strong around John’s waist and it was _perfect_.

* * *

 “Sherlock. I must insist that you _not_ molest John in the _middle of the bloody Diogenes Club_ ,”

Mycroft’s hiss did absolutely nothing to halt Sherlock’s eager exploration of John’s mouth, the mouth which had mere moments before executed the most beautifully crafted, innocent-sounding, _scathing_ insult Sherlock had ever heard in his life. Christ, it would’ve taken him _days_ to come up with something that perfect, and John had tossed it out as though it was nothing. How had it possibly taken him so long to realize how brilliant John was? He was amazing, he truly was, he was every single adjective he liked to hurl at Sherlock; brilliant, amazing, fantastic, and so many more, but Sherlock couldn’t quite come up with them because John had suddenly slid his leg between Sherlock’s, and God, _cheeky_ , that had to go on the list. Normally, Sherlock would _never_ do anything quite this untoward in public, but it was, after all, Mycroft’s office, so why not? If grinding against John in Mycroft’s precious club couldn’t be used to scandalize his older brother, then honestly, what good was it?

* * *

“Christ, Sherlock, we _can’t_!”

“The door is _locked_ , John.”

“Molly has a key!”

“Molly is out for dinner with her ‘boyfriend.’”

“Bloody hell, not the gay bloke?”

“The very one. We’re _all alone_ ,”

Sherlock punctuated this revelation with a pair of vicious nips to John’s neck as he divested him of the last of his clothing and laid him across the worktop.

“All this over your phone,”

John gasped, as Sherlock thrust one _freezing_ finger into him – John made a mental note to forbid methyl salicylate as a lubricant – and Sherlock smirked against his neck.

“The phone is wholly immaterial, John.”

“You – ah! – you didn’t yank my top off until I’d handed it to you. That action seems to have – Christ! – predicated this – Sherlock, please! – reaction.”

“I find it ironic that _I_ am telling _you_ to stop thinking, but honestly, John. If nothing else, do I _really_ need an excuse to put you over a table?”

John would have responded, but Sherlock choose that moment to sink into him, and all John could manage was a long groan. So caught up, neither of them noticed the sound of a key in a lock, or the cheery,

“Well, I brought you dinner, anyway. I’m beginning to think Sherlock was right, you know, I…”

Neither of them noticed as Molly entered the room, hands full of take-away, which she promptly dropped onto a counter.

“I…”

“Christ, Sherlock, just there, just…”

Molly blushed but said nothing, eyes wide, completely transfixed. It took a particularly low, broken moan from Sherlock to snap her back, and she jumped and mumbled,

“I’ll just leave this here, then, shall I,”

and ran out. John and Sherlock were just as oblivious to her exit as they had been to her entrance or her presence. Sherlock was pleased and John was mortified to discover the take-away, and he immediately texted Molly an apology. She responded promptly.

‘Please don’t mention it. Ever.’

**Author's Note:**

> Um, someone pointed out that apparently there's some sort of formatting rule in regards to breaks after dialogue, so I tried that. Does it make it easier to read? Idk, it's not my style, and I still end up with giant blocks of text, but I'll keep doing it if it looks better.


End file.
